The Lotus Eaters

Cruz Residence, Ciudad Balboa, Terra Nova

I am so tired of this shit, thought Cara, as she leaned against the doorframe of the house she shared with Cruz and watched her husband's back recede into faint light of the streetlamp. Cruz had his rucksack slung over one shoulder and his rifle gripped in the opposite hand. He placed both in the trunk, then walked to the automobile's door. He stopped to wave, once, and then opened the door and sat down, closing the door behind him. The car started with a muffled roar.

Cara Cruz sighed and shook her head. How many times have I seen you off like this, standing alone in a doorway? I wish I understood what it is that calls to you. I wish I understood the smile you try to hide when going on active service.

Of course I don't understand those things, not for a minute. All I understand is that there is a call, that you do love your work . . . and that I love you, you bastard.

Oh . . . and I understand that you know I'll be waiting here for you when you come home. Please come home.